Hate
by jlm110108
Summary: After the events of "Frienemies" Charlie reflects on whether he really does hate Marshall Penfield. Written for the Livejournal Writeoff Angst vs. Schmoop Challenge.


"I don't hate you," Penfield had said. "Do you hate me?"

Charlie sat at his desk reflecting back on over twenty years of misunderstanding. He had arrived at Princeton at the ripe old age of thirteen. He knew he was smart. He knew he was an oddity – a super genius among the mixture of geniuses and merely intelligent. He also knew that his intelligence had been a blessing and a curse ever since it was discovered.

Earlier that day, Larry had pointed out that Charlie and Penfield were colleagues as well as rivals, and that their animosity might possibly stem from the time when they were both insecure in their reputations. Charlie had considered that. Larry made a lot of sense, as usual. Well, as usual when he wasn't off on one of his inner spiritual quests. But twenty years of emotions were hard to dismiss in one conversation.

But then he and Penfield had wandered into an active crime scene, and had run into Vic Tooner. Having a psychotic killer threaten your life can give you a new way of seeing things. Confronted by true hatred had put things into perspective.

"I guess it's a way of dealing with who you are," Penfield had said, "Charles Eppes, the guy everyone talks about. You know you're a pretty intimidating person."

For most of Charlie's life, people had been in awe of his mind. Only one year, eight months and twenty-three days older than Charlie, Marshall Penfield had been one of the few people who had not been afraid to attack his work. Thirteen year old Charlie had struggled to find his place among his classmates at Princeton. Meanwhile, Penfield had entered Princeton the previous semester and had established himself as the resident math genius. Penfield reacted to the young challenger by trying to dismantle Charlie's work. And when Charlie managed to sneak around behind his mother's back and plan his first keg party, Marshall stole the keg.

Now, in the privacy and quiet of his office, he could sit back and analyze his emotions. Hate. He had thought all these years Marshall Penfield had hated him. And he had reciprocated. But now, after experiencing the bitter hatred of the late, unlamented Vic Tooner, he knew Larry was right.

He had wasted twenty years hating. With a sigh, he picked up his phone and dialed. "Hey, Marshall, do you have any plans for tonight?"

"Uh, not really. Why?" Marshall's voice was tinged with suspicion. Charlie grinned.

"Why don't you come over to my place? A few of us are getting together for pizza around seven."

"Is this a trick?"

"No. I just thought I'd make up for lost time."

Charlie could hear a sly grin in Marshall's voice. "Will Amita be there?"

"Of course. She practically lives with me now."

"I'll have to see what I can do about that. See you at seven."

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"Amazing," Marshall said as he hung up the phone. Maybe Eppesie was finally coming around. Of course, Marshall realized, his own attitude had probably caused Eppesie's hostility, going all the way back to their first year together at Princeton, back to the day he stole the keg Eppesie had bought for his party. He glanced at his watch. "Seven o'clock? That's more than enough time." He made a few phone calls, then left his borrowed office and jogged to his rental car.

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The doorbell rang. Charlie came from the kitchen and opened the front door. "Marshall! Come on in …" his eyes widened as he noticed what Marshall was carrying. "A keg?"

Marshall shrugged. "I figured I owe you one. And what's pizza without beer?"

As Charlie ushered Marshall into the dining room, he raised his eyebrows. "A mini keg? The one you stole from me was bigger…"

"A little over five times bigger," Marshall grinned, handing the keg to Charlie, "but I didn't think you'd be able to lift a pony keg, Chuck. Besides, who's going to drink all that beer?"

"Good point. It's a start anyway."

"As a great man once said, 'Louie, this is the beginning of a beautiful relationship.'"

"You're wrong. Bogart said 'friendship,' not relationship."

Alan's voice came from the kitchen. "Boys! Are you arguing again?"

Charlie and Marshall grinned at each other. "Always!" Charlie said.


End file.
